


Hangman

by The_Northern_Wolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anorexia, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 08:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18140093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Northern_Wolf/pseuds/The_Northern_Wolf
Summary: Hangman is an important little game we play.. it teaches us that certain things we say can either save or end a life





	Hangman

It started with Joffrey.

He didn't seem at that bad at first glance, all artificial smiles like the words on a billboard for drugs. He grinned and laughed though all of it rang hollow, if you could listen with an acute ear. Sansa couldn't. Why? Because she saw what no one else did, or rather, what she conjured for herself: a perfect boy who could do no wrong.

She remembered him vividly, every torrid detail of his face. Every slight twitch he had when he was angry. The way tears sprang to his eyes when he was upset like some toddler without a toy. It took far too long for her to see that. His intentions were shrouded behind a shower of honey blonde hair and chaste eyelash kisses. He loved to hurt. To beat. To maim.

That's when he laughed the most.

He would call her fat, ugly at points. For a while she didn't believe it, though no one said anything to deny it. The words became as hot and slick as tar, tangling in her mind and goring her thoughts into a mold of his liking.

Then she _was_ fat.

She _was_ ugly.

Eating was too much, so she didnt eat. And when she did, when her family smiled and was having a time that filled their hearts will molten gold, she would throw it all up again. She could practically feel the acid in her throat, writhing with contempt as it pushed through her lips like a hot poker. But she did it. And enjoyed it. All because of Joffrey.

He seemed to like it.

Even when her ribs started to show like the rivets of a fan. Even when her shoulders stuck out so far she felt like a bull. But even then, he laughed and wrapped her up in a gentle arm, kissing her cheek and smiling. She loved it when he did that.

But she started to have problems.

Her eyes would slink shut, weighed down by what seemed to be a thousand tons. She would sleep, but only to awake with a rumble in her stomach and an ache in her brittle bones. She hated walking, hated moving. And eventually, hated _breathing._

That's when her family noticed what was wrong. They saw how her personality slipped away so freely, blown in a wind they could not see. How her eyes were ringed in bands of black and so dull beyond that. She looked back on it with disgust, the way his worm lips found her soft skin and whispered how pretty she looked.

But really, she looked half dead. That was how he liked his girls, broken, beaten, and half living.

Getting out of that relationship was not easy. Even after her father and mother begged, her brothers pleaded and even Arya commanded her to _stop._ She didn't. When word got out she broke up with him she said it was a joke, a lie. A scam. Anything to keep him around her, breathing down her neck.

Until Margaery.

She was something else. She didn't pretend to see Sansa as some pretty maiden of all skin and bones; she saw her not for what she had become, but for what she had been. She seemed to know that Sansa was no longer herself, something everyone else chose to ignore.

Sansa couldn't remember when she broke up with Joffrey; she only knew it was ended with a giant red blotch where a Margaery shaped hand had hit his cheek. She had checked up on Sansa every day after that; every blessed and cursed morning and night.

_Are you eating?_

_Are you ok?_

_What did you pray for?_

The questions were no bother though. Only a reminder of hope, a small light at the end of an oh so dark tunnel. She had been blinded by that foul prince of Baratheon, his false promises and bitter nothings. For once, she felt free.

But he was the least of her worries.

Ramsay was all smirks, all confidence. He drew people to himself like a gale force wind, luring them in with a shiny bait before revealing it was rusted and broken. Sansa had been wary, but his hands were kind though his eyes resembled nothing similar.

Jon had warned her not to trust him, to let him touch her. Grab her.

All the times he would yank her hair or slap her, it meant nothing. Joffrey was worse. Another lie.

His favorite game was when he blinded her. No matter how soft the cloth that covered her eyes, his little play-time always ended the same. She would scream and balk, kick and cry and shriek. Come morning she would ache and throb but nothing that would spur her out of this pit.

She couldnt hide the bruises.

They seemed to follow her, like so many purple and blue stars. They gazed out at the world, asking for as much attention as Ramsay did. But no one dared speak up. Even Margaery had her qualms, her issues. She was afraid. It was clear in the way she held back, curled away like a plant to too much heat.

But in the end she stood tall, she growled like a wolf and pulled Sansa away from him. Ramsay had followed, had stalked, had hunted her like a starved beast. But all the while Margaery was there. And Dany, and Ygritte. And Arya, Bran, Rickon, Robb, her mother, father, even her bastard brother Jon Snow.

But what had it been for?

The room felt so cold. So utterly cold like winter had chosen to seep in through the plaster walls just to hug her. She shivered.

She was high up, though the world spun. She could feel a rough cord against her neck, bristling like a hairy snake. One step.. one step.. and it would end.

Why did he have to die?

She thought of her father, the closest a man she could call gallant. He was a bear of sorts, hugging his children close and swatting at anyone who came too near. But inside he was a wolf; he was a hunter of a pack, a leader. He would protect her, just as he had with Joffrey and Ramsay.

But he was dead. Gone.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek. So trivial. No one would care.

She gazed at the darkened streets out the window, buzzing with life. With people. Places to be seen, people to meet. All of it moving on without her, like a leaf cought in a river. But she had been swept to the shallows, looking at only a slate of shale as wide as a castle and as lifeless to boot.

One step..

The note by the door. It was standing on the table. Who would be the first to get home? Her mother, out with her friends, trying to drown her sorrows in a glass of wine? Bran and Rickon, curled and sleepy at the Reed house with their friends? Arya, probably off somewhere with the dogs, walking or running it made no difference. Robb and Jon and their friend Theon, out drinking. She was alone. She had told everyone she was out with her friends, but she could bear to see them. Not now.

The chair beneath her feet was wobbly, as if shaking as bad as she was. She gripped the rope around her neck. Just one step..

The texts she had sent her friends, or at least, two of them. Jeyne, half a world away. She was in an exchange program, away from the drama. The life that had become a waking nightmare. She could do nothing about what was going to happen.

And Margaery.

Sansa prayed she was not close, and even if she was, the doors were locked. The alarms set. She could not get it.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Her tears clouded her vision and she screamed, crying. She sobbed, trying to get her legs to move her forward. But they wouldnt. Some part of her still wanted to live. She fought it, flooding it out with images of her past, of Joffrey. Of Ramsay.

"Please!" she shouted, though the words were lost in her storm of pain.

 

***

 

Dany was driving when Margaery got the text. It was late at night and they had just come from a walk down near the creek. So peaceful, the soft lull of water like a tune sung by a harpist. Margaery loved it, though Dany and Loras were less enthusiastic.

But when she gasped and started to cry, the car lurched to a halt, jostling everyone inside.

"Marg?" Dany asked, feverishly looking around. They had pulled into a small gravel inlet on the side of the rode, the creek bubbling by lazily down behind a few stray patches of reeds. "Hey whats wrong?"

"Go. Stark house. NOW!" Margaery was practically screaming, clenching her phone so hard she thought it would snap.

_No. No. NO. NO. NO!_

She glanced at the words again but had to suppress a cry:

_I'm sorry. I love you. Thanks for what you did, and I regret that it didn't end up meaning anything. Goodbye._

Margaery knew what it meant. She had always feared this day, waking up every morning with a sinking pit in her gut. But the message never came, until finally she thought that the worry was gone. Sansa was fine, she would be fine. Everything would be fine. But it wasn't.

"What happened?" Loras asked, tugging on her shoulder from the backseat.

She hardly felt it. "Go!" she shouted at Dany who looked struck, but didn't argue, setting the car in motion. Gods how far was it? She couldn't think straight.

_Not Sansa. Please not Sansa._

Margaery could hardly shove words past her lips, feeling them like throwing up rocks. "Sansa- I think- I think she's going to-" she was hyperventilating, shaking. She knew Sansa was serious. But she _couldn't_ lose her. She couldn't. Not after everything. Not after every day she thought of the Stark, everyday she thought to herself _should I tell her now?_

"Relax," Loras said, trying to calm her. But his eyes betrayed him, wide and panicked. "We will get there. When did she send it?"

Margaery saw the numbers but couldn't read them. This wasn't real. Just some sick twisted nightmare. She would wake up soon, see Sansa at school, hug her and braid her hair. Talk about the sweet little things that Sansa loved. She couldn't live without that. But apparently Sansa could. Or she would rather not live at all.

The road was a blur of lights and honks though Margaery was numb to it all. Where was her house? How much farther? What if.. What if..

"Margaery, you have to calm down," Dany said, trying to keep her voice steady and eyes on the road. "We WILL get there in time. I promise. She will be okay."

 

***

 

Sansa saw the lights of a car before she heard the shouts. She had to step, now. But she couldn't. She was sobbing, so much her body was trembling. If anything she would slip off in an accident. What would people say then? Coward? Craven?

_"Whatever they did to you, its behind you. Its gone. Ill protect you, I promise. Ill always be here, if you need anything. I promise. I wont leave like them, Ill stay. The marks on your skin make no difference, because you are beautiful."_

Had Margaery said that? She didn't remember, or forced herself not to. There was no protecting her now. Not when she was all alone, the dead whispering in her ears like little birds. _Do it. End it. It will be better once its ended._

A year from now she would be forgotten, surely. No one would remember the name _Sansa,_ her family would move on. They were already with her father, why not her too? They would all die eventually, and right now she was in control. And yet..

_"Its not an easy thing, admitting to yourself who you really are. But I see a girl who if frightened and afraid, but also kind, gentle. Loving with an open heart. You have been through a lot, but women in our positions must make the best of our circumstances. Wear your marks like armor, they will shield you from all types of words."_

She couldn't.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking like shattered ice.

She slipped the knot off of her head, falling to the ground. _Weak. Craven. Coward. Pathetic. Ugly. Fat. Worthless. Vile. Disgusting. No one._

But then she felt arms around her, and at first she thought she had fallen, fallen into the waiting kiss of death. Why did death feel so warm?

 

***

 

The house was dark, but the garage opened easy enough. Ned had told her the code, saying that she could drop by whenever. Margaery was thankful for that, but she could barley think at all. The darkness was suffocating, like walking into a well of greasy ink and not being able to breath.

But each door she opened proved fruitless until.. Ned's room. Larger than the others but abandoned save for a stray ghost or two. She heard them then, the soft sobs like razors raking throught someone's throat.

Her chest tightened like a vice as she shoved the wood open.

She couldnt speak. The words died in her throat like a fire without air. She had no words for what she saw.

Sansa. Crying on the floor, covered in a wave of fire. Her hair was a mess, granted, but she still looked like a goddess, fallen from her perch among her family up above.

Dany and Loras gaped but backed off a fraction, shocked. A rope hung from the fan above, though it didn't spin. Everything was lifeless, quiet and archaic, except Sansa.

Margaery rushed over and pulled the Stark into her arms, afraid if she didn't, she would step onto the chair again and jump. But she didn't. She clutched at Margaery, sobbing so violently she was quavering.

It was all Margaery could do to hold her tight, squeezing her closer. She couldn't let go.. she couldn't.. if she did then Sansa could disappear. Not now..

"I'm sorry," Sansa choked out, whimpering. Her breaths came against Margaery's neck, hot and labored as if she were in pain. But she was, though inside beyond where the scars could cut.

"Its not your fault," Margaery soothed, trying to smooth Sansa's hair out. "It was never your fault sweetling. Dont ever think that."

At some point Dany had called the rest of the Starks because soon there were more shouted.

Sansa started to pull away, her eyes wild and her lips parted. Her face was red from crying, but was etched in the tell-tail signs of fear. Margaery wanted to hold her until she smiled and laughed again, until she giggled and they were happy. Together. As it should be.

"Dont worry," Margaery said, grabbing her hands and keeping them close together. "They wont hurt you. We wont hurt you. I promise."

Sansa didnt seem to believe her but collapsed against her chest, sniffling and trying to hide her pain. "You are perfect," Margaery whispered as she heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. "You are perfect."

Catelyn was the first to erupt through the door, breathing heavily and looked like she had been crying. She saw Margaery who undoubted looked chilled down to her marrow, before collapsing to her knees. She practically crawled over to Sansa, pulled her into a hug.

Margaery wanted to take her back but didnt. Her family needed to help Sansa just as much as she did. She had no right to change that.

Robb and Jon arrived next, looked on the verge of tears, staring at the noose before Robb ripped it off, nearly taking the fan with it. "Damn them!" he shouted, and it didn't take a genius to know who _them_ was.

Bran and Arya seemed at a loss, trying to help but always stepping back. Rickon was confused before bursting into tears. The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a dull knife.

 

***

 

A few days went by and Sansa was practically a child again, her mother and siblings checking on her feverishly. Even Arya stayed a little while, just talking to her. But Sansa had little energy to pull herself from bed. She was weak and tired, exhausted even a few days past.

She was given these few days before she was supposed to be seen by a therapist, but she was dreading it. She couldn't talk about this. Not with anyone. Never. Gods she couldn't relive it.. never again.. not them..

She thought about what would have happened if she did jump, but she always ended up crying. It made her feel empty but full, all her emotions thrumming with a vigor. What would her family have done? They would have dispaired, cried. How many of them would follow her example? What would Dany and Ygritte think? What would Margaery think?

That was beyond painful, it was excruciating.

Margaery arrived a day later, after the whole incident. She smiled wanly, though gently, looking collected and calm. "Hello darling," she said, sitting down at the end of the bed. Her brunette hair fell in swatches like the strokes of an artist, glittering with flecks of sun which poured through the window. "How are you feeling?"

"If I had a dollar for every time I heard that," Sansa laughed, smiling a little. Looking back it seemed fake, how could she ever have done something like that?

Margaery smiled sadly, reaching out and grabbing her hand, as if reassuring herself she was still there. "I was so worried.. I-" she shook her head. "When I found you my whole world seemed to shatter. Sansa.. I am so sorry. I wish I could have stopped them, anyone. Anyone who ever touched you or made you feel wrong. You don't deserve that. You are perfect."

Sansa bit her lip. She wasn't perfect. The scars dotting her chest and thighs proved it. The fading bruises, now yellow, still remained. Her eyes still watered and she still curled in her blankets at night to sleep, for if she didn't, she worried she would wake up with Ramsay staring down at her.

"You don't have to be sorry-"

"But I am," Margaery took Sansa's other hand, staring deep into her eyes. "I was so afraid, afraid you would die without.. without knowing how much you were loved. How much people needed you." She turned away. "How much I needed you."

Sansa stared in disbelief. Margaery didn't need her; she was always the one to make _Sansa_ feel better. Sure they would joke and giggle like little girls but that was just what friends did, wasn't it? "Ramsay said he needed me," Sansa said. She knew they were the wrong words but she couldn't stop them.

"What Ramsay needed was a castration," Margaery spat, pining Sansa with her gaze. "Gods. Every time I think of him touching you.. I wish I could hurt him. Make him scream, cry. I know its wrong, but I cant help it. I _want_ him to suffer."

"Two wrongs don't make a right," Sansa said, sighing. She looked down at their clasped hands. "Him suffering wont change what happened to me.. it will only change you. So please, don't. I don't want you to change, _you_ are perfect the way you are."

Margaery raised her brows but didn't speak for a long moment. "Sansa.." she said slowly, leaning in a little so their eyes were level. "C- can I.. show you how much I love you? How much I need you?"

At first Sansa didn't understand, cocking her head in question. "Wha-"

She was lost in the feel of Margaery's lips. They were so soft and gentle, lightly brushing against hers. Margaery was hesitant at first, pulling away and looking to Sansa for permission. Sansa just gaped, her breath lost, snagging in her throat. But Margaery felt like Joffrey and Ramsay didn't; gentle, ginger, caring.. loving.

_Can I show you how much I love you?"_

Sansa tentatively reached out a hang and tangled it in Margaery's hair, pulling them closer.

Their lips met and this time Margaery wrapped her arm's around the younger girl, running her hand's up Sansa's back and tracing small patterns that could only be taken as a word of art. But it felt so _right._ So _perfect._

 

Finally they parted and Margaery smiled, blushing slightly. Their eyes met. "Here," Margaery said, rolling off of Sansa causing her to whimper at the lack of contact.

Margaery rested against the headboard, looking at Sansa though leaving room for question. "Come here," She said softly, lovingly.

Sansa was more than happy to oblige, snuggling into Margaery's side and resting her head against the older girl's chest. Her lips still tingled from where they had kissed, though it felt comfortable, like a promise. Like a light at the end of the tunnel.

Margaery staretd stroking her hair, running her fingers through the firey locks. "I do love you Sansa.. and I understand if- If you dont feel the same. I was just so worried I would get to tell you-"

Sansa lightly peppered a kiss on Margaery's neck, breathing in her scent. It was so warm, so soft. Everything about Margaery. Sansa felt her eyes closing, her body relaxing more than it had in a long time. She let out a breath she had been holding, for perhaps since she had started dating Joffrey.

"Please don't leave," Sansa murmured, already feeling herself being lost to a sweet dream.

Margaery smiled down at her, kissing her forehead. "I wont, I promise."

She didn't ask for Sansa to reciprocate her feelings, her words. To say that sentence. She had said it before, and it had meant nothing. But now..

"I love you," Sansa whispered before falling asleep.

 


End file.
